Tastes Like
by Covert Commander
Summary: When England cooks something for America, it obviously tastes horrible, but he'll never say that. Two-shot that may turn into a three-shot, depending on if it does well.
1. Chapter 1

I ran around my own house like a madman; constantly cleaning the shelves, bathrooms, bedroom, guestrooms, closets, living room, dining room, kitchen, and everything in between. I felt like a house wife with the way I decided to dress right now in my jeans and red shirt with a blue apron wrapped around my waist and neck. I scrubbed the floors with a sponge that was in my yellow rubber gloved hands, the room and floor smell of nothing but lemon and with the power of Pinsol, baby this will be the day he finally approves! On my head was the complementary green bandana with all the other countries as chibis that I got for being in the Paint it, White movie though my blond cowlick standing straight at attention as it always did.

I stood from my sore knees, tile was a _great_ idea at the time, and stretched out my back. I sighed an over exhausted breath and quickly went to find something else to clean furiously.

Why would I be so OCD about all this cleaning today? 'Cuz Mr. Overly-OCD-Cleaner is coming over today, that's why. If this place isn't spit spot spiffy clean by the time he gets here, I'm totally getting lectured the whole time he stays here. _Oh, Alfred this place is as clean as your colon. I raised you better that to live in a sty. If you had just stayed a colony, then your living conditions wouldn't be as bad as your eating habits. Blah, blah, British blah._ I'VE BEEN FREAKIN' CLEANING FOR A WEEK JUST FOR HIM DAMMIT!

I finish cleaning the guest bathroom window and to make sure it's crystal clean I give a thousand watt smile at the god damn handsome bastard that is my reflection. I check my watch, he said he'd be here at three it was currently, _2:30_ so said my digital time teller. I hop off the counter and head to the bedroom, where I had removed the '_childish_' super hero sheets and replaced them with the boring royal blue ones with nasty (in my opinion) green colored sheets. Please don't tell him I spelled it without the u, he always gets mad at that. I opened my dresser and pulled out a semi-tight black tee and some casual jeans, y'know the ones you wear after you get out of a really stiff suit. I lift up the lid to my dirty clothes hamper and decide I have time for a quick load so I head over to the laundry room to do that.

I finish with the detergent and everything when I hear the doorbell ring. My watch displayed that it was only _2:45_, he was early. I walked over to the door and after I unlocked it, I opened it to see the back of his head. He hears the door open and turns around. "Britain!" I say with big arms, partially faking the excitement of having him over for the week.

He smiles, " 'Ello America." Britain steps up a bit and puts his hands on the back of my shoulders, then gives me a kiss as to our usual greetings. I wrap my arm around his waist and kiss him back, while my other arm let go of the door to retrieve his bag. He steps inside, automatically I can tell he's looking around the room to point out how messy it is, but before he can get a chance to critique me I went to the bedroom to put his stuff on the bed.

When I get back in the room, I go up to confront his timing. "You're kinda early, babe." I say, putting my arm around him.

"I can't be a little early?" England asks rhetorically.

"No, I didn't mean it like _that_, I just-"

"I'm messing with you, America. Lighten up." He says.

"Me _lighten up_? You, the guy who was born with a stick up his ass, are telling me to lighten up?" I say, I can tell I just pressed some buttons with the sour face he gives me. I expect the worst, until he starts laughing.

"I suppose you're right." What is with this side of him? Oh, I got it!

"You must be super horny to say something like that to me." I tell him.

He looks insulted, with his mouth wide open and bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Alfred!" Crap, he used my real name, I messed up again. "Don't say such things!"

"Wh-why not? You're my boyfriend right?" I ask.

"Well yes, but still it's very improper." He says.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." I apologize.

His beautiful emerald eyes wander away from mine as he put his head and hand on my chest. "The house looks nice."

I sigh deeply, rolling my eyes. "I know it's worse than a pig's- wait, what?" Did I do it? Did I really hear that right, that he actually likes the way it was cleaned?

"I said it looks nice. You did a really good job of cleaning." Britain said. It'd be super embarrassing to jump up and down like an idiot in front of him so I mentally cheer myself.

"Uh, thanks then." I say.

"You said you bought some tea, yes?" he queries.

"Yeah, the kind you like it's in the kitchen. Do you want me to fix you some?" I offer.

"No you probably wouldn't fix it right anyway. I can do it myself." He says, finally he's insulting me again. Hey, he did just insult me! I grimace a little but follow him to the kitchen. He checks the hampers curiously until I instructed him where the tea was located. He begins to unwrap the package and brew himself the drink, he offers but I decline his invitation of tea for me. "Are you hungry?" he asks, probably already knowing the answer.

"Starved." I say. I've figured out that if you can't make it a complete sentence while talking to him, it might as well be just one word. I occasionally let the '_horrid grammar_' slip every once in a while, but that's just because he's absolutely adorable when he's correcting me.

"Good, I'll make you something." He headed for another cabinet.

"What?" I said, slightly concerned.

"You must be exhausted with all the cleaning, so I'll make you something to eat." He says.

"No, you don't have to do that. You're a guest in my house." I try.

"It's okay, I don't mind. Besides I found this recipe online that I wanted to try out." He says, already continuing with his plan that will surely burn down my kitchen.

Fifteen minutes pass, and his 'creation' is finished. He places the bowl down on the table in front of me. I swear I can hear it whispering obscenities to me of how it wants to die. I kinda feel sorry for it.

"And while you eat that, I think I'm going to unpack my things." Britain presses us together then leaves.

Poor thing, I don't know if I should eat it or set it free in the wild. I dip my spoon into the brown broth, and then scoop out some. The odor is… very pungent. I reluctantly put it to my lips and it trickles down my esophagus. I quietly cough.

It tastes like if someone threw a burnt, filled baby diaper into a soup and added the hair of a sweaty fat guy.

It tastes like a skunk got back from a stressful day at the dirty sock factory and decided to go for an hour long jog then poured his juices into a smoothie.

It tastes like Darth Vader's ass.

It tastes like if his burnt scones had babies with other burnt scones then drowned in a toilet.

It tastes the same way Ke$ha's breath smells.

It tastes like he got a brick from a burnt down building and said '_this seems like it'll make a great soup for America_' and added spit from a tobacco addict.

It tastes like some old person's shoe.

It tastes like a disease ridden rat in Africa.

It tastes like France's armpits.

I have a few more similes.

It tastes like broccoli mixed with old cheese and dirty fish.

It tastes like six thousand year old laundry.

It tastes like the Queen's earwax.

It tastes like it died thirty years ago in a trash compactor.

"Well? How is it, love?" he says as he puts a hand on my shoulder and kisses my cheek.

"Oh my god, England! It's super delicious, better than hamburgers! Pleeeeease can I have more?" I ask.

He glances down at my now empty bowl (Yes, I…. unfortunately…ate it all. Hopefully he can't hear the all out war going on in my stomach.) "Sorry, I didn't make anymore." He says. I give a silent prayer of thankfulness to the big guy upstairs.

He begins to walk backwards, towards my bedroom. He has a suggestive look in his eyes as he gives a _come and get me_ smile, curling his finger repeatedly to himself. People may think I'm an idiot, but even an idiot knows when he's about to get lucky. And this idiot is totally getting some right now. ;)

**I know I'm supposed to be working on another series right now, but I just got a quick inspiration for this one-shot. I just thought of America going off on a tangent of how bad England's food was then as soon as he asks America says it's great. So I hoped you liked it, I enjoyed writing it because this was my first one-shot and first 1****st**** person POV (I feel like I have more control with 3****rd**** person omnipotent). If this story does well, I might do an England POV of this situation.**


	2. Chapter 2

We were meeting up at his place this time, just great. It's not that I don't love spending time with him; just his house is usually a mess. I can tell he really tries hard to clean it up when I come over, with little results. One of these days I'm going to have to help him with it.

The air travel really has improved now that countries get their own private jets. Much easier and convenient if we need to get somewhere fast. I step off the aerial machine and am walked to a black Volvo by the driver, he's a happy American too but not as chipper as America. Now that I think of it, almost no one is as chipper as America (apart from Italy that is).

The driver tries to make small talk with me, but I must have sounded bored sounding so dull from questions I've been asked millions of times. "What brings you to the states Mr. Britain?" he asks.

"Not much, just meeting with America." I stare out the window.

"That should be fun, right?" he keeps his eyes on the road, but every now and then he looks to the mirror as to have a polite conversation.

"Somewhat, I guess." I try returning the politeness by facing towards him, but then stare back out the window. Not all of these buildings were here last time I visited.

"Can I ask you a personal question Mr. Britain... are you dating Mr. America?" he curiously asks.

I quietly gasp and turn red. "I… me and him are… _he and I are_…it's just… we're…" I stammer.

"That's okay, you don't hafta say it, if it's embarrassing to talk about." He snickers to himself and focuses back on the road.

I put a hand on my forehead. _Americans,_ I think to myself and roll my eyes.

We arrive to America's house, and when the car comes to a complete stop I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the car. He gets out of the vehicle as well to help with the luggage, which was kind of pointless because I only have one suitcase. He walks with me to the front door, carrying the large suitcase and drops it by my side before the door. I check my watch, the time reads that I'm early, I'm sure America wouldn't mind though.

With a tilt of his hat the driver says; "Have a nice day, sir." He walks back to the car and drives off.

I ring the doorbell and look at the surroundings for a while. I hear him opening the door and I turn around, he has his arms spread out wide. "Britain!" he says. He's wearing an extremely sexy black shirt that's tight on his muscles.

I can't help but smile at the charming boy, " 'Ello, America." I should really wait until the door is closed so any neighbors wouldn't be able to us, but I don't. I step inside and put my hands on his shoulder blades then give him an innocent kiss. His arm wraps around my lower back and he brushes me closer, trying to get my bag from behind me. When we part, I look around his house. Before I could tell him anything about it, he vanishes to the back room to put away my things. For once, he did do a fairly decent job.

I can see a few things stowed and stuffed away instead of properly put up.

His television has a coating of dust on top.

I can hear the laundry running, which should've been done first.

He has a framed poster of Iron Man signed by Robert Downy Jr. and I thought the Superman sheets were childish.

Hopefully those inferior sheets were removed in case we did decide to… never mind.

Honestly, if he can't do it himself, he should hire someone to do it for him.

The house reeks of overused lemons, a little is fine but this was unbearably citrus.

I can tell the kitchen is still semi-wet.

I don't remember his room when he was a colony ever being clean fully, no matter how hard he tried. It still looked better than this.

I see soda can rings on a small side table that held a lamp and a black framed picture.

It's a picture of us. I can tell he's holding the camera facing us, our faces together looking at the camera with bright smiles. My hand is on his chest and his other arm is around my shoulder, keeping me close. I remember that was just a year ago, he wanted to take the picture with us kissing but he waited too long to press the button so he just got us smiling. I also remember that kiss almost made my knees weak. I smile at the picture and the memories; I can't decide which were better. The memories I had of him being my little brother or the memories I'm making with him every day.

He returns to the room. "You're kinda early, babe." He puts his arms around me.

Ugh, that infernal nickname that I've grown to love. "I can't be a little early?" I rhetorically ask.

"No, I didn't mean it like _that_. I just-"

"I'm messing with you, America. Lighten up." I say.

"Me _lighten up_? You, the guy who was born with a stick up his ass, are telling me to lighten up?" he says. I furrow my eyebrows in a sour face, but decide to just laugh it off.

"I suppose you're right." I say. He looks like he just had an epiphany.

"You must be super horny to say something like that to me." He tells me.

I feel insulted and give a silent gasp that he would even say something like that. "Alfred!" Yes, I use his real name. That way he knows he's done wrong. "Don't say such things!"

"Wh-why not? You're my boyfriend, right?" he asks.

I blush a bit. "Well yes, but still it's very improper."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He apologizes.

I can't resist his beautiful eyes that no ocean could ever dream of being that blue. I know; I've checked every one of them in my pirate days. I rest my head and hand on his toned chest. "The house looks nice." Not amazing, but nice. He probably worked very hard trying to get it this clean, I didn't want him to think all his actions were for nothing.

He sighs deeply. "I know it's worse than a pig's- wait, what?"

"I said it looks nice. You did a really good job of cleaning." I say, I can tell he's incredibly happy about my praise by the way his heart beats against my ear.

"Uh, thanks then." He says.

"You said you bought some tea, yes?" I ask.

"Yeah, the kind you like it's in the kitchen. Do you want me to fix you some?" he offers.

"No you probably wouldn't fix it right anyway. I can do it myself." I say. I realize I haven't insulted him since I got here, he must be worried sick. Maybe we can start all over with nice things to say to each other, instead of my sarcasm and his American comebacks that pretty much consist of '_yo momma_'. I check the hampers until he tells me where the tea is. I unwrap the package and start to brew some of it, I ask if he wants any but it seems he doesn't. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved." He says. Good, he's learned it's better to say the bare minimum if he can't talk right at all. If he could just do that all the time instead of letting horrid grammar slip and making me get upset and forced to correct him while he just smiles and goes all googly eyed for no reason.

"Good, I'll make you something." I look around in another cabinet.

"What?" he says, I could've sworn there was some kind of concern in his voice.

"You must be exhausted with all the cleaning, so I'll make you something to eat." I say.

"No, you don't have to do that. You're a guest in my house." He says.

"It's okay, I don't mind. Besides I found this recipe online that I wanted to try out." I say, already grabbing ingredients.

After a good fifteen minutes, the meal is done. Funny it doesn't look as fabulous as the one online did, but pictures overdramatize everything. I set it down before him. America looks like he's at a funeral.

"And while you eat that, I think I'm going to unpack my things." I squeeze a hug from him and head to the bedroom.

The bedroom at least looks a lot better. Thank god, the Superman sheets were removed for a more mature selection. My bag is laid on the end of the bed and I unzip the sides to open it up and grab my clothes I will be needing for the stay. He said he had moved some stuff of his to make room for my things, he really is very considerate. And sweet, and adorable, and charming, and appreciative, and sexy, and younger, and he has more stamina, and durable, and great at snogging, and _amazing_ in the bedroom, and perfect, and so… _American._ I put the last of my shirts in a drawer, and then find one of his shirts. It's soft and smells great, I rub it under my nose and smile into it. I lay on the bed, still holding on to the shirt for dear life, and slightly shift around with it like a love struck teenager.

I close my eyes and I imagine him with his arms around me as we're just waking up to a sunny morning on a Saturday in which we could stay that way all day with no interruptions. One last sniff into the shirt and I flutter my eyes open, realizing that all that can really happen: America was right outside that door. All I have to do is just tell him I need his arms around me and *poof* it happens. I stand back up and put the shirt where I found it then start making my way back to the kitchen where my All-American lover sat.

"Well? How is it, love?" I put a hand on his shoulder and kiss his cheek.

"Oh my god, England! It's super delicious, better than hamburgers! Pleeeeease can I have more?" he enthusiastically asks.

I glance down to his bowl, where it was actually empty. "Sorry, I didn't make anymore." I say.

I start walking backwards, back to the bedroom. I have a promiscuous look in my eyes and give a _come and get me _smile, directing him with my finger to head in my direction. Some people think he's not all that bright, but they don't know him like I do. And boy, does he know the ins and outs of me.

**Meant to put this up earlier, but I sort of forgot about it for a small period of time. But when I remembered about it I made it my mission to upload another chapter.**

**Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand as a little treat**, **there will be another chapter (which will include smut for those of you who like it;))**

**Also, once finals are done with I will be posting a new chapter of From Boyfriend to Husband. **


	3. Chapter 3

*Le pop* I pop out of the bushes of America's house. There is a leaf stuck in my beautiful golden hair, but when you work in secret you must sacrifice some things. A few days ago I heard Angleterre is to visit America's house today, so being the nosey beauty I am, I made it my mission to come spy-I mean watch them from the distance that I'm at right now. It's so cute when England pretends they are not in a relationship, when in fact, they are. I must've been watching over them for about thirty human years by now.

I see a man in a black suit and black driver's hat walk Angleterre to the front door. He drops a single suitcase next to Britain.

"Have a nice day, sir." The driver says to him while tipping his hat.

England rings the doorbell and looks around for a while. He looks forward when America opens the door with his arms waiting for a hug. "Britain!" I hear him say. He's wearing a black shirt that I can tell from here that Angleterre is going crazy over.

England smiles at the American, " 'Ello, America." He steps inside and kisses America, America puts his hand on Britain's lower back and gets his suitcase. I move my position to one in front of a window on the side of America's house where I can see England standing in the living room. I also look at the hygiene level of America's living room, I saw how determined he cleaned earlier but I can still tell pampas ass doesn't fully like the way it is cleaned. America had disappeared, knowing if he had stayed he'd be lectured of how the house looked. Angleterre walks over to a picture that has a black frame. I can't exactly see what picture it is, but it makes him smile.

America enters the room once again, "You're kinda early, babe." He wraps his arms around the Brit. I remember after five weeks of dating, England just gave up on correcting his American slang.

"I can't be a little early?" England asks.

"No, I didn't mean it like _that,_ I just-"

"I'm messing with you, America. Lighten up." Britain says

"Me _lighten up_? You, the guy who was born with a stick up his ass, are telling me to lighten up?" Very good point he just brought up. I believe Angleterre was actually born with a coller up in his cul. The smaller man furrows his big eyebrows and has a sour face. But he just laughs.

"I suppose you're right." That's the first I've ever heard him say that to America. Wait… yes, the first time he's ever said that to him. America looks as if he just realized something.

"You must be super horny to say something like that to me." He says. I'm practically rolling on the grass in my laughter with my hand over my mouth so they don't hear me. I kick the grass in my fit of laughter and hold my side.

"Alfred!" Angleterre says. Uh oh, you're in trouble now, mon ami. "Don't say such things!"

I pick myself up and look through the bushes once again. "Wh-why not? You're my boyfriend, right?" he asks like a dog that knows he's done wrong.

Aww, how adorable! Angleterre is blushing! "Well yes, but still it's very improper."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He says.

It looks as if Britain is showing sympathy for the American, so he rests his head on the boy's chest. "The house looks nice."

America sighs deeply. "I know it's worse than a pig's- wait, what?" Did I hear that right? No, of course not. Angleterre hates the way it was clean.

"I said it looks nice. You did a really good job of cleaning." I did hear that right. That's strange. America obviously looks very excited over the praise.

"Uh, thanks then." He says.

"You said you bought some tea, yes?" Ah yes, the British man's crack: tea.

"Yeah, the kind you like it's in the kitchen. Do you want me to fix you some?" America offers.

"No you probably wouldn't fix it right anyway. I can do it myself." England says. Finally he is insulting America, I was starting to get worried. He starts looking in the cabinets and pulls out a tea box, unwraps it, and starts to fix himself the drink. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved." I guess he's learned by now to speak in only one word sentences unless he wants to be lectured yet again. He seems to know his way around old Angleterre.

"Good, I'll make you something." RUN AMERIQUE RUN!

"What?" he asks, poor fool. He shall have the most decorated burial.

"You must be exhausted with all the cleaning, so I'll make you something to eat." England says.

"No, you don't have to do that. You're a guest in my house." Good, America. Do _anything_ you can to make sure he does not cook.

"It's okay, I don't mind. Besides I found this recipe online that I wanted to try out." He's grabbing the ingredients. STOP HIM RIGHT NOW!

Fifteen minutes pass, Angleterre is finished preparing the meal. I think I can smell its horridness from here. When it's set in front of America the look of death is on his face. Sure, sometimes he tended to be annoying, but not even America deserves this torture.

"And while you eat that, I think I'm going to unpack my things." England hugs America and leaves to the back bedroom.

America takes one sip from a spoon and the poor bastard looks poisoned. I can't watch anymore without throwing my guts up and move to the window of the bedroom where England resides.

He's setting his things in a drawer, he looks like he's thinking of something. Most likely his American lover's perfection. He pulls out one of America's shirts and brings it to his nose. He inhales the scent and drops onto the bed. Ahahaha he looks like a teenager who was head over heels in love. His eyes flutter open and discards the shirt.

I move back my earlier position as England walks back into the kitchen. "Well? How is it, love?" he places a hand on Amerique's shoulder.

"Oh my god, England! It's super delicious, better than hamburgers! Pleeeeeease can I have more?" he begs. I can't believe it, maybe all of those disgusting hamburgers dissolved his stomach and is no longer affected by it.

"Sorry, I didn't make anymore." England says. He starts to walk backwards with his finger instructing America to follow him with a smile that suggests as well. _Ohonhonhonhon, I know where this is going. _ I move back once again to the bedroom window.

England waits on the bed for the American that soon comes into the room. Angleterre winks. America places his knees on either side of Angleterre sitting on the bed as he cups the Brit's face. He smiles down to his English lover as Britain moves his hands up America's thighs and up his back. Both open their mouths and close their eyes for a kiss. I definitely snap a picture of that. They fall back onto the bed and continue their kissing fest. England slides his hands over America's stomach and chest to around his neck. America picks himself up and removes his black shirt then returns to kissing England. I take a picture of that. America pounds his hands on both sides of the Brit with a smile, the said Brit chuckles for a while. Angleterre moves his hands back down to America's derriere, rubbing it and squeezing it. Britain buries his hands beneath America's jeans and around to the front of them, trying to unbutton them.

"Whoa, whoa, take your shirt off, too." America instructs. He stands on his knees again, England rolls his eyes and grunts but slides his shirt over his head. America gets his stomach licked by a British tongue and his pants button undid by English hands. He rolls his head back and closes his eyes at the, I'm assuming, amazing feeling. England pulls denim pants down to America's knees, revealing British flag briefs. He raises a single eyebrow up to America and smirks. "What? You bought them for me." America says.

"I know it's just a turn on to see you wear them." England says. He flips over America to where he is on top of him now. He kisses him one more time. I took a picture of that. Angleterre kisses his stomach again, but a little lower. I'm talking hemline of the briefs lower. He pulls at the underwear until a fully hardened erection springs up, then he pulls them all the way off. He smiles up to America.

It always pains me to see this side of England. I mean, I grew up with the guy. I watched him as he raised the American he's about to suck.

He licks up the length of America's queue. America hitches his breath, when England puts it all in his mouth. Bobbing his head up and down, Angleterre continues to coat America in his saliva. America winces at the, again I'm assuming, great feeling. England finally stops torturing me when he picks his head up to look at America.

"Could you, love?" he asks with a smile.

"My pleasure." America says. He removes Britain's pants, he's wearing American flag briefs. I close my eyes with my head down and shake my head. When I pick up my head, I roll my eyes. America reaches to the back of Angleterre's underwear and removes them. With both hands on England's ass, he digs one of his fingers inside. The Brit holds tighter to his lover and calls his name.

After a few seconds, when Britain was fully stretched enough with details I'd rather not go into (because once again, I grew up with this man), America flips Britain over with himself on top again. England gives an obvious clearing of his throat. America looks up to him in confusion. Angleterre has a sour face with an eyebrow arched again, clearly America was forgetting something.

"Oh right, got it." America remembered. He stretched for a condom and stretched it on himself. Though, I'd rather not see any of that, I'm glad they remembered to be safe.

Amerique wraps Angleterre's legs around him and lowers himself face to face with the emerald eyed man. He slowly pushes into England, while he and the Brit both wince. I don't look but take a picture of that, too. I'll even admit it, though it's weird for me to watch this, it is hot. Angleterre puts his hands on America's face and deeply kisses him again. He brushes the American's glasses over his face and into his hair, pushing his bangs back a bit. As he puts his hands back to where they were on America's face, America took of his glasses fully and put them on a side of the bed they weren't using and his bangs went back to where they originally were. As America pushed repeatedly, Angleterre looked as if he was also thrusting the American further in.

It kind of got boring after the first twelve minutes of them making out and having sex in different positions. I nonchalantly took pictures of when they did it doggy-style, when England rode America, when they were in the lotus position, and much more. By the end of it all, they ended up in their briefs again. Not under the covers America had his arm acting as England's pillow. He was brushing sweat-drenched bangs out of his face and humbly smiling down to him. England had his arms wrapped around America's waist, smiling up to America. After a while, Britain sat up and reached to a side table. He grabbed a small white box with a red line across it, no doubt a cigarette box. He pulls out a cigarette and places it in his mouth. He picks up a lighter and clicks it a few times until it starts working. With the small flame against the white cylinder, he waited until it burned properly. He put down the pocket lighter and began puffing the smoke container. America, the whole time as he watched, looked disappointed.

"I wish you didn't smoke." He said quietly. England looked over to him.

"Why can't I?" he asked.

"Well, it's bad for you." America said.

"So are hamburgers." England retorted.

"Hamburgers don't make everything smell like smoke for days." America said back.

"America, I only smoke to reduce stress, and you're kind of making me more stressed." England said and puffed one in and out.

"No you don't, what about this situation would make you stressed? You smoke because you're addicted to them. Hence, they're bad for you." The American said.

England looked over to America and smirked. He was obviously up to something. He straddled America, holding down his arms.

"England, get off of me!" America protests as he wiggled around to get out of Angleterre's hold.

Britain puts his knee on one of America's shoulders and held his face in front of him. He smiled an evil smile. He puffs in one more time the slowly breathes it out in America's mouth. After he let go, America coughed up something fierce. England gets up off of America and sits against the head board.

America rolls on his side, "Why do I even bother? You're not gonna quit. No matter what I say." He says.

England breathes out deeply, he wraps his arms around America. "If you tried it, it wouldn't bother you so much." He put the cigarette to America's mouth.

"No way." America sounded disgusted and shoved Britain off with his shoulder.

Angleterre looked hurt, he got out of the bed and left to another room. I thought I heard a sink running. Angleterre returned to the bed. He closed his eyes, very annoyed, "If you want me to, I… can try quitting. Okay?" he said.

America lit up like a Christmas light and pulled England into a hug. "Thank you." America whispered.

"Whatever." Britain said.

I stood up to the podium to give my speech. "Now, before I get started, I would like to show a slideshow I have prepared for this meeting." I say.

Amerique and Angleterre are sitting next to each other, exchanging glances and occasional smiles.

I click up on the giant screen that now reveals a picture of the couple on the bed, kissing. I 'act' as if that was the wrong slideshow even though I actually put it up there on purpose. After hearing all the gasps, America and England look up to themselves on the screen. Both of their sets of eyes grow big and I chuckle at them. I flip through some more slides slowly until it got to the raunchy stuff.

"I'm sorry, I can't show anymore because of graphic content. There are children in this room." I say, looking over to Sealand and Latvia. England covered Sealand's eyes after the first slide popped up, he is after all America and England's child who was told to stay in the UK while Angleterre visited America. No one was there to cover Latvia's eyes though.

I switch off the power point and turn on the lights. England and America both have their hand rubbing their foreheads in embarrassment.

"You're a dead man, frog." England says, but I only smile to this threat.

**Last chapter done. Weren't expecting France's POV for the last chapter, were ya? Oh, you were? Never mind then. I had a lot of fun writing all these, they were a hoot. Don't try convincing me otherwise to write more, because I won't. This story was actually a spur of the moment type thing that gained more chapters. Hope you liked it!**


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